


looking for a place

by intergaylactic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, pls enjoy lovelies, reader is coded as fem but also little to no she/her pronouns used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergaylactic/pseuds/intergaylactic
Summary: steve and reader both need to find a way to crash in brooklyn, and tony jokingly suggests they room together. after spending a few months doing just that, reader and steve realize they might be growing a little closer than either of them bargained for.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	looking for a place

It was all because of a joke Tony made, which, admittedly, should _not_ be how you make major life decisions. But from the moment he said it, the idea had nestled in your brain and wouldn’t stop making arguments in favour of itself when you let your mind wander on bus rides and during morning runs. **  
**

_“Don’t think I can_ afford _a place in Brooklyn.”_

_“Y/N/s looking for a place - why don’t you move in together?”_

Tony had punctuated it with a laugh, just to make clear how much he was definitely kidding. You had turned your gaze on Steve, ready to chuckle along with him, and caught him watching you with a thoughtful quirk to his mouth. Not a frown, but certainly not a laugh. 

_“I’ve never had a roommate before - this could be fun.”_

Now, you were standing in the doorway of your shared Brooklyn apartment, eyebrows raised as you watched Steve carry the pieces of your dining table and set them down on the kitchen floor like they were made of styrofoam. He gave you a nod and a smile, and you returned it and set your own light box of clothes on the floor. At least moving in would be easy. 

“I’m glad you already had all this furniture from your last place,” Steve said, nodding to the table. “Mine was, uh, a little barren.” 

“Not much of an interior decorator?” 

“No,” Steve laughed. “I guess not.” 

Unpacking with him was nice, the quiet comfortable between the two of you as you hauled boxes and furniture up the narrow stairs of your apartment building. After finally shoving the couch into place, you panting and Steve having barely broken a sweat, you collapsed onto the cushions. 

“That’s my workout for the day,” you muttered, letting your head tip back against the top of the couch, and Steve chuckled. 

“Pizza sound good?” 

You nodded, remembering your empty pantry and fridge. You’d have to go grocery shopping soon, but for now all you wanted to do was lay right where you were and wait for food to come to you. 

An hour later you and Steve sat across from each other on the couch, pizza box open on the coffee table in front of you, the smell of melted cheese and basil permeating the whole apartment. The old tv you had pulled out of a box and left on the floor in the living room played a baseball game that Steve seemed invested in but that you had to keep asking questions about. 

“I can’t even keep up with which team is who,” you griped, snagging another slice. 

Steve laughed, eyes darting from the game to you. The laugh softened his gaze in a way that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You wished you were naive enough to blame that on the pizza. “Cubs vs. Mets. I’m just glad to finally catch a game with teams I remember.” 

You settled back against the arm of the couch, legs curled up under you, as you watched Steve watch the game. He was still clad in a loose grey t-shirt and jeans, and his smile was infectious. 

“This was a good idea, right?” You asked aloud before you could think better of it. 

Steve stiffened, glancing over at you again, a confused pinch appearing between his brows. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You shrugged, ignoring the tension that built in your chest the longer he looked at you like that. You didn’t consider yourself the most easily charmed person in the world - you were a former SHIELD agent, made of sterner stuff than gooey romances called for. But Steve Rogers had a way of looking at you that swept you right off your feet. 

“Just don’t want Tony to get annoying about it,” you said with a crooked smile, shoving your internal worries aside. “He’s been joking about our ‘office romance’ -” you pulled out the air-quotes just to prove how much you were joking, how funny you thought the idea of you and Steve was, because it was definitely funny and not an unfortunate constant of your daydreams “- for ages, and he’s probably betting that we don’t last the month without things getting complicated.”

“Complicated?” Steve echoed, and you flushed, thankful for the dim lighting of the tv. 

“You know … _complicated_. And just, with Tony being Tony, I just wanna make sure he doesn’t have anything to rib us about, you know?” 

Steve nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face; he seemed almost embarrassed by the suggestion, which you guessed made sense. No matter how well the two of you got along together on missions, or had each other’s backs in battle, the idea of you two in a complicated situation was ludicrous. 

“I’m, uh, sure that’ll be fine,” Steve said with a huffed laugh. “Nothing complicated here.”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed. “Tony was just being an ass.”

“Of course.” 

* * *

You woke with a start, eyes flying open and revealing pressing darkness on your every side, breaths uneven and painful in your constricting chest. Pushing yourself up, you took stock of your surroundings: familiar bed underneath you, familiar sheets twisted around your legs, familiar hulking shape of your wardrobe casting shadows that cut through the moonlight filtering through your bedroom window. Your bedroom, in the Brooklyn apartment. It looked nearly the same as your old one, if a bit more spacious. (The perks of having a roommate to split rent with.)

You didn’t get nightmares like this too often anymore, as the incident in Belarus shrank further and further into the distance of your past. Nearly a whole year later, and you were going at least a week or two at a time without revisiting those cold, dank hallways in your sleep, the shriek of a knife hacking at the hinges of a locked door. Your hand crept down and brushed across the ridged scar tissue on your side; it was barely visible against your skin these days. 

Scrubbing at your eyes, which had begun to prickle with tears, you made up your mind. You wiped at the dampness that clung to your hairline, sweat cooling on the back of your neck as you carefully extracted your legs from the mess of sheets and swung them over the side of the bed. Usually you just sipped some water or cold tea from whatever was left on your nightstand and went back to sleep, not wanting to wake anyone - “anyone” being Steve Rogers, who slept in the room right next to yours. But Steve was away on a mission somewhere in Australia until Sunday, so you were free to pace away your restlessness and get some fresh tea to calm yourself with. 

Steve wasn’t a very nosy roommate, which had been nice these past two months. He didn’t bother you when you clearly needed space, and you granted him the same favour. He was respectful, a perfect gentleman - truly the all-American hero he had been packaged as. But, despite the long nights with the tv playing in the background, teaching you card games and helping each other out with writing up mission reports, you hadn’t let him in on your nightmares. It felt childish to whine about, especially to a man who had survived a literal warzone. You could handle some bad dreams on your own. 

Wandering into the small kitchen, you flipped on the lights as you went, the darkness becoming too much for you to take. Shadows vanished the instant you flipped the light switches, and your breathing came a bit easier when you felt as though you could see everything around you, no grasping cruel hands in sight. You put the kettle on, leaning your back against the sink and studying the stillness of the apartment, waiting for the water to boil. 

You switched on the radio, dialing the volume down to something like a loud murmur, letting the sounds of some three am jazz station fill the kitchen as you pulled out a mug and a bag of chamomile tea. 

The creak of a floorboard had you spinning around so fast you nearly dropped your mug, feet sliding into a defensive stance as your gaze darted around you, searching for the intruder. 

Instead, you were met with Steve, standing in the hallway, rubbing at his eyes as he peered at you. He was dressed down in a tank top and sweatpants, and a fresh bruise blossomed across his left shoulder.

“Y/N? What time is it?”

“Like, three - I thought you were in Australia?” You tried to keep the note of anxiety out of your voice, flushing at being caught like this: embarrassed, nervous, reeling from a bad dream. You felt like a little kid.

“We got back early -” Steve paused, frowning at your panicked stare. “Y/N? Everything okay?” 

You let out a breath, slowly placing the mug back on the counter behind you; the kettle clicked off as the water finished boiling, the only sounds in the kitchen the roiling water and the soft jazz music you had left playing. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, nodding quickly, hoping Steve couldn’t see the jumpiness in your movements. “Just, you know … making tea.”

“What kind?” Steve moved further into the kitchen, leaning against the dishwasher. 

“Uh … chamomile?” You turned back to the mug you had abandoned, pouring in a careful stream of hot water. The steam curled up, caressed your cheek, and you breathed in the gentle floral scent for a moment, steadying yourself. 

“Make me a cup?” Steve asked, and the small, tired smile he gave you really should’ve come with it’s own warning: CAREFUL! CAN MAKE YOU DO ANYTHING HE ASKS!

“Sure.” You pulled out a mug for him - a kitschy Iron Man one that Tony had regifted back to you in a secret santa - and fixed Steve a cup of chamomile tea. Passing it to him, your fingers brushed, and he gave you a grateful nod, humming in amusement when he saw the design. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. You nodded, hiding behind your own mug, hoping he would go back to bed. You still needed a minute to collect yourself, the nightmare flashing through you in broken pieces. 

“You sure everything’s alright?” Steve asked; his gaze was penetrating, and you felt yourself shrink a bit under it. You didn’t want to have to admit that you were in the kitchen at three in the morning because you were too scared to stay in your bedroom in the dark, ghosts lurking in the corners. 

“Just, you know - couldn’t sleep.” You smiled, giving it your all, but you could tell Steve wasn’t buying it. He set down his tea, arms crossed as he watched you for another long moment. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said, his voice barely rising above the quiet hum of the radio. “If you need to.” 

You glanced up at him then, meeting his piercing blue eyes. “You don’t have to do that, Rogers,” you tried to joke, giving him a small smile, though you could feel how tired and weak it was. “It’s not a big deal.” 

Steve regarded you for a long moment, his gaze sweeping across your face as he studied you. You held still, gripping your warm mug like an anchor, feeling quite swept away by the ocean-blue of his searching look. His sigh was soft, more a movement than a sound. “If you’re sure. Just know that you can, if you ever need to. Not that you do right now,” he added hastily as you went to reply, “but if you ever did. I’m just next door.” 

You nodded slowly, offering him another tiny, wane smile. “Got it, Cap. Thanks.” 

Steve breathed out a laugh as he sipped his tea, and the two of you settled back into the quiet of the late-night kitchen, the radio slipping from one tune into the next. It was nice, just relaxing there with Steve, who spoke softly every so often about the upcoming Halloween party Tony was planning on throwing. His presence was calming, reassuring; something about standing next to Steve Rogers made you feel like nothing could touch you there. Your eyelids grew heavier as you yawned, exhaustion finally creeping up on you as you clutched your mug tighter in your hands and leaned away from the counter. 

“I think I’m gonna head back to bed,” you said, and Steve nodded. “Thanks for, uh. You know.”

He reached out and touched a broad hand to your shoulder, a brief, soft gesture that sent a sudden flutter throughout your chest. “Anytime. See you in the morning.” 

“Yeah, see you.” 

When you finally laid back down in bed, it was with a much warmer heart.

* * *

You stumbled through the front door of your apartment, steps unsteady with exhaustion. Dropping your bag at the door, you leaned against the wall for just a moment. To say that the mission had gone poorly would be an understatement. 

Two agents from the extraction team were hospitalized, and a third had returned home to recover from his sprained ankle without bothering with the emergency room. The intel you had had turned out to be garbage: the HYDRA cell was in waiting when you and your team turned up, ambushing you the moment you entered the supposed headquarters of their operations. You didn’t know how they had gotten the drop on you, and you were so tired from the fight and the ensuing trek back to New York from the Texas-Mexico border that you wanted to sleep for a century before you had to think about the false lead. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you trudged into the bathroom and slowly peeled off your gear, leaving it in a filthy, bloodstained pile on the floor that you silently swore you’d clean up later. At the very least the hot water of the shower would do your sore muscles a world of good. 

Emerging from the shower into a small cloud of steam, you wrapped yourself tightly in a towel from the shelf, wiping tendrils of wet hair from your face and trying to clear your head. You were still bone-tired, and probably had some injuries you needed to take care of to boot, but maybe if you got a head start on the false lead situation now … 

You were still pondering this when the bathroom door opened, and your head snapped up to see Steve standing in the doorway. He swore, whirling around on his heel and trying to awkwardly close the door with his back turned to it. 

“Sorry, I thought you’d already gotten out - thought I heard your door close -” 

You clutched the towel tighter around yourself, huffing out an exasperated laugh as you watched Steve desperately try to close the door. “Rogers, relax. I’m covered, I’ll just get out of your hair -”

You tried to side-step Steve and escape into the hallway; at this point, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be that embarrassed by his finding you in this state. You had showered with enough coworkers back when SHIELD had a base of operations to feel comfortable with a big enough towel shielding you from view. But Steve’s sudden hum of concern as you passed him gave you pause. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, and Steve nodded to your right shoulder. “That looks pretty bad.” 

The bruises from the brutal fall you took were visible, then. Fantastic. You had ruled out broken bones with enough certainty to simply retreat to your apartment, forgoing the emergency room. But from the look on Steve’s face, you could tell that it didn’t look great. 

“Mission went that bad?” He asked. 

You shrugged, though the bitterness dripped into your voice despite your best efforts. “I guess it could’ve been worse, given that I’m not dead.” 

Steve huffed out a laugh, but his brow remained furrowed with concern as he studied your bruised and exhausted form. “D’you need any help with it?”

“Help?” You echoed, eyebrows raised in question, and you were gifted a patented Steve Rogers Blush in return, the lightest dusting of pink on his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose. 

“Just … get dressed, and I’ll swing by your room in a minute if that’s okay?” He was so tentative, eyes dropping from your face to dart around the hallway, like he still didn’t want to come across as though he was ogling you in your towel. 

You managed a tired half-smile, nodding. “Alright.” 

Getting dressed was a painful experience, gingerly shifting the light fabric of your loose tank top over your shoulder and back, wincing when it grazed the bruising and scrapes a little too hard. That whole side of your body burned with each aching throb, and you wondered how long it would take before you could finally sate your exhaustion without having to ignore the pain all across your upper back. 

Your head snapped up at the soft knock on your bedroom door, and you swung it open to reveal Steve, standing in your doorway, twisting a packet between his hands. He looked up at you, a nervous smile inching its way onto his face. 

“Hey there, stranger,” you said with a playful wink, though you could tell Steve saw right through your teasing. His concern was always evident in the way his stance changed, his broad shoulders hunching as though he wanted to lean down, close the space between the two of you to speak with you in a personal bubble only you two were allowed in on. He did it sometimes when you had woken from another nightmare, or he came back from a bad mission, or the scary movie you’d watched had taken more out of you than you had anticipated. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the feeling of having someone there, wanting to protect you - and having that person be Steve? That was beyond simple joy, and moved somewhere you couldn’t let yourself think about. 

“I’ve got some stuff that might help with that,” Steve said, nodding to your right side, and you stepped aside to let him enter your bedroom. It did not escape your notice that he had never been inside the room before; he was a gentleman through and through, and had never invaded your privacy despite the small confines of your shared apartment. 

As you sat on the edge of your bed, legs dangling off the side of the mattress, you watched Steve, amused at his wandering, uncertain gaze as he shuffled from foot to foot. You patted the comforter space next to you, and the sound drew his eyes straight back to you. “You can sit, don’t worry.” 

Steve did sit, his knee pressed against your thigh as he spread out the packets he had brought with him: an icy-hot pad, antibacterial wipes, and bandages. You gave him a wry smile, and he returned it. “Humour me.” 

“Alright, alright,” you murmured, stifling a yawn as you turned to the side, exposing your back to him. Steve gently swept your hair away from your right side, his fingertips skimming the bare skin of your shoulder, and you tried not to shiver. 

His voice was hushed when he spoke next, right behind you. “Can I, um - the strap of your shirt -”

“Oh, yeah, sure -” You reached over with your uninjured arm, carefully pulling down the spaghetti strap of your tank top, tucking it underneath your arm, revealing your full shoulder and upper back to Steve. 

“Thanks,” he said, and then his hand was on your shoulder, his palm warm against your bruised skin. “I’m just gonna -”

“Do what you’ve gotta do, Rogers,” you said, a laugh colouring your voice as you glanced at him over your shoulder. He stared back at you, mouth twitching into a smile. “I promise I can handle it.” 

He wiped over your scrapes and cuts with the antiseptic wipe first, his movements lighter than you would have bothered with. You couldn’t help but lean minutely into his touch, letting him smooth bandages over the patches of ruined skin with careful, nimble fingers. As he spread the icy-hot patch over the biggest section of bruising, where you could swear you had gone black-and-blue deep into the muscle, you were also disappointed to realize that Steve’s touch would retreat from you in a moment. You longed to encourage him, to let him skim his hands along the rest of your body, slow and soft touches that would trail along your arms and sides, slipping all the way down to -

You scooted forward the second Steve had finished with the patch, heart skipping a beat as you tried to shove those thoughts aside. You slowly repositioned the strap of your tank top, and turned to find Steve watching you with a pleased glint in his eye. There was something soft and proud in his gaze, and it hurt to look at for too long. You averted your eyes for a second, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve, before you glanced back up at him. 

“Thanks,” you said, because you needed to. You needed to signal Steve to head to bed before your tired, mission-addled brain did something stupid, like jump his gorgeous, patriotic bones. 

Steve just nodded, standing from your bed. 

“Anytime.” 

And then he was gone, ducking back into the hallway and shutting your bedroom door with a gentle thud, and you were left alone, your hand sweeping unconsciously across the space he had just occupied, still warm from his weight. 

You lay back against your comforter with a sigh, all the energy drained from you, and curled up in the hopes that your sleep would be dreamless, and not brimming with more fantastical ideas about the man who slept one room over.

* * *

The movie credits were rolling, but you and Steve hardly noticed, given that the two of you were fast asleep on your couch. 

You had been helping Steve in his mission to experience as much pop culture from the past seventy years as he could, and the two of you had been making your way pretty steadily down a list of films he was required to see. Sam had helped with the list, and even showed up at your place for movie night every once in a while, though he spent a lot of the time teasing the two of you about a) living together and b) having an “adorable” designated movie night. You ignored his taunts, but couldn’t stop the slight flush they brought out in your cheeks. You only hoped Steve didn’t notice in the dim living room lights. 

That night was The Fellowship of the Ring, which Steve had joked at the expense of until maybe thirty minutes in, by which point he was absolutely hooked. But nights were long and you were both tired from the recruit training you had both been subjected to that week, so when the credits finally began rolling slowly up the screen, you had both passed out against the soft couch cushions, Frodo and his stupid ring long forgotten. 

You were startled awake by the movie’s home screen audio, Elijah Wood’s voice drawing you straight out of your odd, hazy doze. You sat up, scrubbing at your sleep-crusted eyes, before looking down to see Steve curled up next to you, arms thrown across your lap, face half-buried in a pillow. 

You gave him a moment to sleep, though you knew it was more for you than him: seeing Steve that peaceful was a unique opportunity, and one that you intended to enjoy for at least a few seconds. Then, your hands working as delicately as they could, you lifted his arm from around your thighs, trying not to feel flustered by the contact. When Steve didn’t open his eyes, you gave his cheek a few soft taps. 

“Steve?” Your whisper carried through the dark living room. “Steve, wake up.” 

His eyes blinked open, bleary and confused, and Steve looked up at you, your face within inches of his. You pulled back quickly, the proximity startling. You had not even realized how close you were. 

“Y/N?” His voice was a low rumble, trapped in his chest; you felt the vibrations of it through your hand, still braced on his side as you leaned over him on the couch. “What time is it?” 

“Nearly midnight,” you said, checking the clock. 

“Oh.” Steve sat up slowly, his eyes still glazed with sleep. He tried to stifle it, but a yawn broke through, and he gave you a tired, lopsided grin that warmed you up from head to toe. “Shoot, sorry for keeping you up …”

“Don’t worry,” you said with a laugh, “C’mon, Rogers, I’m not gonna let you ruin your super-spine on this couch.” 

You looped your arm under his, hand curling around his other side as you both stumbled up from the couch cushions. Steve leaned on you slightly as you made your way through the living room and down the hall, where your bedrooms waited. Your footsteps were unsteady shuffling, and your giggles echoed down the hallway. 

Stopping at Steve’s bedroom door, you gently eased out from under him and opened the door, giving him a gentle nudge with your hand splayed flat against his bicep. Steve dipped down to wrap that arm around your shoulders in a brief hug; you could feel his lips curve into a smile against your temple as he did so. When he finally leaned back, you worried he could still hear the anxious skipping of your heart. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Steve said, starting to move backwards into his room. 

You leaned against your own bedroom door, waiting to watch him slowly close his. 

“Goodnight, Steve.” 

* * *

The thumping outside your bedroom door startled you out of your sleep - finally, your rest was being interrupted by something that wasn’t your own panic. You squinted through the darkness at the crack along the bottom of your bedroom door, watching as a hulking shadow flitted across the hall light that you had left on. You clicked on your phone: 3:42 am. 

You slipped out of bed, wincing at the cold floor on your bare feet. Wrapping a soft blanket around yourself and snatching up one of the throwing knives you had abandoned on your dresser, you crept to the door, pressing your ear against the thin wood. In the hallway, someone was muttering to themselves. 

You flung the door open, knife poised to strike as you glared at the - Steve. The American hero’s baby blues stared down at you, wide with surprise, and you choked on a breath that was half gasp and half laugh. 

“Steve?” You lowered the knife, glancing around the hallway: empty, except for the heavy duffel bag at his feet. “Everything okay?” 

“I just -” Steve stopped, confliction clouding his expression. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He offered you a small, wan smile that didn’t meet his eyes. It certainly wasn’t the smile that made your heart stutter whenever you saw it. 

“You sure?” You frowned up at him, arms folding around your middle as you awaited his answer. You had planted yourself in front of your bedroom door, and you didn’t think you would want to leave until he told you what was clearly wrong. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, you know. It’s alright.” 

Steve let his smile slip, and you were relieved to see the slight frown it was hiding, the way his mouth flattened with indecision and worry. It was good to see him express what was really storming around inside his head rather than trying to keep it locked away. Now all you had to do was find a way to coax an earnest smile out of him, and figure out how to keep it there for a little while. 

“It’s not … you really don’t have to worry -” Steve began again, and you interrupted him with a disbelieving raised eyebrow. 

“Not that I never trust you,” you said, reaching out a hand to rest on Steve’s forearm, “but I don’t trust you when you start saying things like that. I’m worried, Rogers. Deal with it.” 

Steve chuckled, though the sound was a bit strained. His skin was soft where you touched it, and you gave his arm a gentle tug, beckoning him along with you into the kitchen. “C’mon. Tea time.”

“It’s three in the -”

“Nearly four, actually,” you said with a smirk, already rummaging through the cupboard for mugs. You had dropped your grip on Steve’s arm as you entered the kitchen with the supersoldier in tow, but you longed to return to it. His warmth felt nice against the early morning chill of the apartment, and there was something innately comforting about how strong and solid he felt. Touching Steve sometimes made it feel like he was the only real, tangible thing in the whole world, just for a moment. 

“I’m so sorry,” he began, and you just shushed him with a flippant shake of your head. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, setting your kettle on the stovetop and opening up the drawer where your tea stash was kept. You rifled through its contents for a moment before settling on a pair of teabags whose floral scent brushed delicately at your nose as you plinked them into their respective mugs. “I’ve been trying to wake up earlier anyhow.” 

Steve laughed again, and again you noticed how off it sounded. He had such a warm laugh, beautiful in its comfy, cozy airs. You liked drawing them out of Steve over dinner, snuggling into the sound like a throw blanket. Now, they were distant. You wanted to haul a lantern out of the hallway closet to go searching for them, to bring them back to your snug little apartment. 

“So,” you said, turning to face Steve as the water boiled. He looked right back at you, his face drawn with exhaustion. “Why are you up at four in the morning?” 

“Just … the last mission …” Steve pressed a palm to his eyes then, as if trying to rub the tiredness from them. “Sam and I were close, we think. To finding Bucky.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “And what happened?” 

“We didn’t find him.” Steve sighed, the sound weighing heavily on him. “Or we did, but he - I don’t think he wants to be found. He vanished without a trace.” 

Before you could respond, the kettle began whistling violently on the stovetop. You hastened to turn it off, mind swirling with the newfound understanding of Steve’s overwhelming concern, how distant he was. His mind was still seventy years in the past, looking for his best friend. You poured the water quickly, handing Steve his mug; your fingers brushed, and you let yourself relish the sensation. It was the little things with Steve, as it seemed it always would be. The steam from the tea wafted over the tiny dining table you two shared, and you sighed as you breathed it out. 

“Lemon lavender,” you explained when Steve gave his tea a tentative sniff. “It’s meant to be calming.”

“Does it work?” Steve asked, blowing on his drink. 

“Not sure,” you replied honestly, tracing your fingertips along the hot sides of your mug, letting the warmth bleed gradually into your hands. “But that’s why I’m here, as a backup in Operation Calm.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s eyes flickered to meet yours over the rim of his mug, and you couldn’t help the flutter it left in your ribcage, just as wild and distracting as it was the first day you two moved in together. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a nod. “And I have to warn you, I’m pretty good at comforting. It’s actually listed on my old SHIELD resume.” 

Steve laughed, the sound startling out of him like a bird taking off from a tree branch, and you revelled in the familiarity of it. 

“So, he’s gone again?” You asked, studying the sudden droop of Steve’s expression as his laughter died down. 

“Yeah.” He paused, gaze contemplative and trained on the scrubbed wood of the tabletop. “I just can’t seem to save anyone anymore. Nothing is like it used to be. I just … I wish I could keep someone safe, for once. For good. You know?” 

You nodded slowly, chin cupped in your palm as you regarded him. It was a relief to know you weren’t the only one who missed the simplicity of SHIELD, of knowing the aliens you were fighting. Missions now felt misguided and blind, like you would never know who you needed to fight again. “I miss it, too. It was so much simpler, you know? I knew exactly who we were fighting, and I knew how to save people. Now everything is so complicated.” 

When Steve didn’t look up, you gave him a tiny smile. “At least you’re good on one of those fronts, Rogers. You’ve been good at keeping me safe.” 

Steve snorted, finally raising his gaze to yours, and you reached across the table to rest your hand over his, only using the gentlest pressure. You didn’t want to spook him, or have him close himself off again. The last thing you wanted -

Steve leaned over the tabletop, his breath warm on your cheek. You could see your own eyes reflected in the dark of his pupils, your own surprise mirrored back at you. He was hardly a few inches from your face. 

“Is this okay …?” Steve breathed the question, and a flush rose in your face as you finally closed the distance between the two of you. 

His lips were soft under yours, which you weren’t really expecting. So many long nights in the field, stalking through frigid tundra and infiltrating strongholds, and still Steve’s mouth was a gentle, pliable thing beneath your own, moving in sync with yours as your hand came up to trace the strong line of his jaw, his stubble scratching at your fingertips. 

You broke apart slowly, reluctance clear in both of your faces; your eyes fluttered open to find Steve’s already studying you, the tenderness of his smile bringing out one of your own. 

“I’m guessing that means it was okay?” Steve asked, and you rolled your eyes, biting your lip to keep your grin from growing too bright, your affection too obvious. You didn’t want to freak him out, come on too strong. 

“Definitely okay,” you whispered, tangling your fingers together on the tabletop. 

“Good,” Steve said, leaning forward again, “because I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” 

“Weeks?” You repeated, dumbfounded. 

Steve laughed, brushing flyaway hairs from your face; his touch was featherlight and incredibly distracting in its gentility. “Yes, weeks. I just - I didn’t think you wanted me to make this … complicated.” 

You could have smacked yourself. Complicated? You couldn’t find anything complicated in the way Steve was touching you, the way he made your heart race, the way he felt pressed up next to you on the couch, your bodies perfectly in sync. Steve’s kiss made everything feel very simple to you: you wanted him, and he wanted you, and you should act on that. The idea of Steve Rogers feeling as though he shouldn’t bother you with his affections … 

“I wouldn’t mind complicated,” you whispered, your eyes enraptured by his gaze. This close, you could pick out the subtle green flecks, the grey that threaded through his irises, all the shades of the ocean. You leaned into his palm, let his barely-there touch turn into a caress across your cheekbone. “But I don’t think there’s anything too complicated about this.” 

Your next kiss was pressed against a blossoming grin, Steve’s chuckle a welcome sensation as you let him tilt up your chin, coax you into a deep, open-mouthed kiss that sent a wave of warmth washing all through your chest, curling around your heart. You slipped both your hands around the back of his neck, tugging him further into the kiss. 

“You know,” Steve murmured when you pulled back to breathe, “we could always move this to the couch, if that’s easier.” 

You laughed against his cheek, realizing you were still leaning precariously over the table to reach him, and nodded. When Steve stood, you stood with him, letting him pull you flush against his body once you followed his lead. You sucked in a surprised gasp, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Last chance to avoid complications,” Steve said, teasing. 

“I’m good,” you replied, standing on your toes to kiss him again, your arms linking around his neck. “Go ahead and complicate things, Steve.” 

Your feet left the ground as Steve tugged you off the floor, echoing your laugh and he hurried to the couch, letting you fall back against the cushions and chasing after you with his mouth, his hands settling comfortably on your waist as he did so. You arched up into his kiss, his touch, and let the feel of him wash over you, euphoric. 

In the morning, he would still have to deal with the difficulties of his missing best friend, and you would have to continue to fix the remaining mess of SHIELD’s broken pieces. But in his arms, it was much easier to imagine having the strength to do that.

**Author's Note:**

> your gal is now cross-posting her fics on tumblr and ao3!!!! hopefully this is cool and works out, bc the fics i'm working on rn are ones i feel really proud of, and i hope y'all enjoy them <3 <3 hmu on tumblr @starmunches or @mallowswriting if you wanna yell or see smaller drabbles
> 
> remember to stay safe and have a good night starshines <3 <3


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